


Overtime

by Speranza



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-08
Updated: 2006-03-08
Packaged: 2017-11-29 12:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speranza/pseuds/Speranza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're not that kind of lawyer. You need a real lawyer."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A story with a shark in it for a bedridden Merry Lynne: Get well soon, sweetheart!  (Thanks to Terri and Shalott for beta).

"Really. Seriously. What can he do to me?" Josh extended his arms backwards, and Donna slid his suit jacket up, onto his shoulders. Then she turned him around, adjusted his lapels, and straightened his tie. 

"He's a lawyer, Josh," Donna said with implacable reasonableness. "He can twist you into—" 

" _I'm_ a lawyer," Josh pointed out. "I'm a _good_ lawyer—" 

"—knots, get you to contradict yourself—"

"I'm a _Yale_ lawyer!" Josh declared, flinging down the _ne plus ultra_ of his credentials.

"—or I don't know, maybe prick that mountainous ego of yours so that you say something, oh, unbelievably stupid?"

"Never happen," Josh deadpanned, but he was unable to sustain it, and giggled. A moment later, he had his face back under control. "Mountainous? Really?"

"You're not that kind of lawyer. You need a real lawyer. So take a lawyer, Josh." Donna looked him up and down, then began roughly brushing something off his left shoulder. "A shark, somebody who can—"

"What do you know from mountains, anyway? Wisconsin's flat as a board."

"—protect you from yourself." One last assessing look, and Donna stepped back, satisfied. "Which, believe me, is a full-time job. _More_ than a full-time job—"

"—so we've decided to take shifts," and Josh turned to see Sam standing there, impeccably dressed and carrying a briefcase, white shirt gleaming beneath his charcoal-grey suit. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, and put them on. He looked unbelievably deadly. "So let's go," Sam said evenly, and glanced at his watch. "When we get there, say nothing. And I mean absolutely nothing."

Donna yanked hard at his tie. " _Nothing_ , Josh."

"I—all right, all right," Josh said, jerking back and raising his hands, because he couldn't stand being tag-teamed by both of them—except he thought he could stand it, hours and hours of it. Josh swallowed. "Fine. I'll let Sam do the talking," and Josh couldn't help but notice the swift, conspiratorial glance that flashed between them. He turned, pulled his raincoat off the hook, and slid it on. "Back in a couple of hours, I guess," he said, but Donna was already sliding past Sam on her way out to the bullpen, and Sam was tilting his head expectantly toward the exit. Josh grabbed his backpack and followed him. "I thought you were the night shift," he muttered, slinging his backpack over his shoulder as they strode down the corridor. "Donna's the day shift and you're—"

"Yeah. Call it overtime," and there was a flash of white teeth as they pushed through the swing doors to the lobby. 


	2. Chapter 2

Saying nothing does nothing to make the questioning go faster; in fact, quite the opposite. Sam sits beside him, calmly saying, "Don't answer that," and "He isn't going to answer that," and "Next question," and eventually Josh tunes the words out. He hasn't had a lot of time for introspection lately, so in a way, this is a vacation: a moment to wonder what it means that Donna and Sam have been talking, to think about the moment last week when he popped into Sam's office and found Donna's arms around his neck, Sam's face buried in her shoulder. Josh hadn't been jealous, merely surprised, and later, when Donna had shrugged and said, "He's having a rough day," that had been the end of it, because he talked to Sam, he talked to Sam all the time, but not about things like that.

So he's taken aback when the questioning suddenly ends, chairs scraping back and men in suits standing all around him, including Sam, who's smiling his smile that isn't really a smile as he reaches out to shake hands. "We'll be in touch," the special prosecutor tells him, and Sam doesn't reply to that, but his shark-smile never wavers.

It's dark when they leave, and they're already in Sam's car when Josh says, "So, hey, do you want to get dinner first?" and he's proud of the way that "first" dangles as a subtle, sly invitation.

But Sam shakes his head without taking his eyes from the road. "No," he says. "Donna's waiting," and Josh's head whips around, his mouth dropping open. But Sam never even looks at him, and Josh doesn't know what to say.

He somehow assumes that they're going to Sam's apartment, but Sam drives him to his own condo, and Josh can see from the street that there are lights on in his living room. Josh feels strangely numb, almost terrified as he drifts down the sidewalk toward the steps, and then Sam is beside him, hand gently gripping his elbow. "It's okay," Sam says in a low, serious voice. "It's all right: you'll see," and it's only their being outside that stops Josh from leaning in to kiss him, because Sam is a lawyer and talk is cheap, but he'd be able to taste the truth on Sam's tongue.

But Sam sees the kiss that didn't happen, and his lips twitch, and then he's hustling Josh up the steps, to the brownstone's double doors. Josh is fumbling for his keys, but Sam just presses the bell beside his name. A moment later the outer door buzzes and clicks open, and his apartment door is right there, and ajar, and Sam's been to his apartment a hundred times, a thousand times, but Josh still feels each and every moment like it's all happening for the first time. He walks to the door, pushes it open, and walks in—and Donna is in his kitchen, pouring something into a glass. She looks up at him and smiles, and behind him, Josh hears the click of the door locking. "Here, Josh," Donna says, coming around the fancy black marble countertop he never uses, the tumbler huge in her hand. She's wearing her work clothes; gray knit slacks, diaphanous pink blouse, string of pearls. "Drink this," she says, and holds out the glass. Josh takes it, sniffs it—whisky, rocks—and is about to take a sip when Donna turns and wraps her slender arms around Sam's neck, and Sam is kissing her, his large, square hands sinking into her hair.

Josh bonks himself in the face with the glass, because Sam is—God— _inhaling_ her, tilting her head back and putting his tongue into her mouth. Josh stares, because he knows just what that kiss feels like, and then he blinks, looks down at the glass in his hand, and drinks the entire thing down, steadily, feeling the burn along his throat.

By the time he's lowered the glass, they've stopped kissing, and Donna, looking flushed, face pinked in a way that he's only dreamed about, is suddenly very, very close, sliding her hands along his rib cage before leaning in. Her mouth is soft and very, very sweet; he can't taste Sam on her and he's not even sure if he wants to, but suddenly he wants to fuck her senseless—except not suddenly, he's always wanted to; always, always. The glass levitates out of his hand, but that's Sam, and he groans into Donna's mouth when he feels a hand stroke his dick through his pants, but that's Sam too, hot and pressed up behind him. A moment later, his raincoat slides off his shoulders and whuffs down to the floor in a heap, and then Donna's arms are twining around his neck and reaching around Sam's neck, too, and Sam's breath is hot on his ear, and his cock is nudging against Josh's ass.

Josh is not sure what happens then, whether it's the way Sam's hand tightens on his erection or the way Donna is suddenly hot and panting, pushing up against his front and trapping Sam's hand between them, or maybe it's just the scotch kicking in, but suddenly they're all stumbling forward, and maybe there was some vague idea about getting to the bed or even just some soft surface like the couch, but when Josh's knees buckle they're on the rug in front of the couch, and that's good enough, that's better than nothing. He sinks down, pulling Donna with him, lips drifting down her neck, to the V of her blouse, where they meet his fingers, which have given up trying to undo the tiny fabric-covered buttons and are now just clawing at the filmy fabric, pushing it aside, pulling her breasts into his mouth. Her nipple rises hard against his tongue, and for a moment, Josh is so blissed out that he can't even speak. Then Donna makes a sharp, sweet noise, and Josh lets her breast slurp out of his mouth long enough to see that Sam has slid behind her, arms wrapped around her and mouth pressed to her ear. Donna's gray slacks are unzipped and gaping open and Sam's hand is bulging low and deep in her pants, wristwatch pressed to her belly, the only thing visible. The bulge moves rhythmically, pulling back before sliding deeper still, and Josh wonders if Sam's touching her or already inside her, fingers pushing deep. "Is she wet?" Josh asks in a cracked, hoarse voice, but Donna has turned her head to press her soft, pink mouth to Sam's wide one, and she's convulsing in Sam's arms.

When Donna breaks off the kiss, Sam slowly pulls his hand out from between Donna's legs and extends it toward Josh. Sam's fingers are shiny, his eyebrow arched. Sam is answering his question. 

"Josh..." and Josh blinks and moves his eyes from Sam's fingers to Donna's face.

She's slouched back against Sam's chest, but she's staring at him, glowing with sweat, tongue licking at the corner of her mouth. She doesn't say anything more to him, not, "I want you," or "Fuck me," or anything like that, but suddenly they're all moving in unison, Sam lifting her up, and Donna adjusting her legs, and Josh pulling her shoes off before reaching up to slide the gray slacks and tiny slip of cream-colored underwear down and off, over her feet before fumbling his own pants and boxers down his legs. She's gasping by the time he moves between her knees, and Sam's hands are on her thighs, rubbing reassuringly and holding her open. And Josh can't help it: he leans over Donna to kiss Sam—tongue in his mouth, hot and nasty and oh so familiar—before dropping his mouth to Donna's, and Donna's arms are pulling him down, Donna's pulling him in, and his mouth is on her mouth, her cheek, her ear as he pushes into her, shuddering in bliss. She's wet and ready, and even now Josh can feel Sam's hand cupping her belly, thumb stroking her clit so that she convulses rhythmically around him: even now they're doing this all three together. Josh strokes his own palms over Donna's soft body, up over Sam's strong hands—smooth thighs and hips; belly, waist, and full breasts—until he's thumbing her nipples and gently squeezing her breasts. Donna's legs tighten around him, and she's trying to set the rhythm, so Josh lets her, moving his cock into her when she flexes, sliding out when she relaxes.

Donna's hands are suddenly in his hair, cupping his head and drawing him down. She's kissing him, kissing him, and she wants him, _God_ , how she wants him. He melts a little, because he thought he was the only one who wanted this, and then helplessly, he takes the rhythm back, thrusting into her hard, again and _again_ until—

When he comes, he can't breathe, and he's flailing, falling on top of her, and they're a tangle of limbs. Sam's hands clutch at his shoulders reassuringly, and a moment later, Josh catches enough of his breath to roll off Donna and onto the rug beside her, where he lays back and gasps at the ceiling. Beside him, Donna is panting too, and she's rolled onto her side and curled into herself, beautiful and long-limbed, blonde hair splayed around her on the rug.

"Sam," Donna says breathlessly, and Josh lifts his head to look at Sam. Sam is just sitting there, arms braced behind him and one leg bent, his shirt half-opened and his pants half-unzipped. He doesn't look nearly ravaged enough, and Josh pushes himself up, onto his hands, and crawls the couple of feet to him. Sam inhales sharply as Josh crawls over his legs and unzips his pants the rest of the way. Josh has just slipped his thumbs underneath the waistband of Sam's boxers when he gets suddenly self-conscious: Donna is watching them through half-closed eyes. She has to know...doesn't she? Donna knows everything, so she must know about him and Sam. Anyway, she's about to know, Josh thinks, and slides Sam's pants down over his slick-shiny erection before bending to take it in his mouth.

Sam's warm hand cups Josh's neck, and Josh sucks, and he remembers the first time they did this, years ago, campaigns ago, before Bartlet and the White House, when they were both know-nothing congressional aides working in the same dusty corner of Cannon House. They worked long days, pulled three all-nighters a week, and gave each other drunken blowjobs in the locked stalls of half the men's rooms in Georgetown, because they were _idiots_ —brilliant and reckless and never in a million years imagining they would be _here_. Sam lets out a low, ragged moan, tightens his hand in Josh's hair, and begins to nudge his hips upward. Josh lets his mouth go slack, lets Sam fuck his face a little, knowing that Sam doesn't play rough; this is familiar and fine.

Josh's eyes are closed, so he smells Donna before he sees her; when he opens his eyes, he sees that Donna has coaxed Sam to lie backwards, and she's draped across Sam's chest and kissing him, hands stroking his hair. This, of all things, makes him feel jealous, even though he's got Sam's cock in his mouth and Donna smells of the sex they've just had, and he realizes that he doesn't want to share Sam's orgasm with anyone, not even with Donna. That's ridiculous and he knows it, but he can't stop himself from gripping Sam's hips tightly and speeding up the head he's giving, making it rougher, making sure Sam knows where his orgasm is coming from. He uses his tongue to rub the ridged lip just behind Sam's cockhead, and hears a gasp of "Josh! Jesus Christ—" and that's his warning, but he lets Sam come in his mouth, jerking and spurting. Sam isn't even finished coming when Josh pulls off, sucks two of his fingers, and pushes them into Sam's ass—and when Sam thrashes, spasming around his fingers as his spent body tries to come again, Josh is suddenly overtaken by remorse, and he's glad that Donna is there to kiss Sam's face and whisper, "that's it, baby," and "there, there," and "s'all right..." 

Josh slowly rubs his fingertips inside Sam, feeling him tremble, before pulling his fingers out and resting his head on Sam's hip. Donna is snugged in the crook of Sam's arm, and if Josh reaches out, he can curl his arm around her cool white thighs. His eyes are suddenly heavy, and he dozes off until he feels a blanket dropping on top of him: this is Donna, who's naked and kneeling beside him, tucking a blanket around his shoulders. She's got another one, too, and she turns to drape this one over Sam, who's still sleeping. Donna's all long limbs and pale, freckled skin, brownish-pink nipples and blonde pussy. Josh reaches for her helplessly, his own lightly-freckled arm seeming strange to him, and when she turns to him, he presses his hand to the most intimate place he can think of—her abdomen just below her breasts—just to see it there, splayed like a starfish, like a sign of something.

"I love you," Josh blurts out. "I love both of you," and Donna smiles and says, "Yes," before snuggling up to him, arms and legs tangling around him, then laying back and resting her cheek against Sam's muscular thigh.


End file.
